


Watts in Charge

by lle-well-in-that-case (thejokerghost)



Category: Murdoch Mysteries
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Case Fic, Crack Treated Seriously, Gen, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Murder, this happens like some time after season 13 probaby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-16 02:41:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28699341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thejokerghost/pseuds/lle-well-in-that-case
Summary: Constable Crabtree and Detective Watts run into each other on the way to work (where and how isn't very important), and together they meet a boy who woke up to find his father murdered. Meanwhile, Murdoch hunts down a book thief.Or, my hand slipped and I wrote a caseoops.Or, I've only been watching this show for a month why am I already writing fics for it ahhhhhhh
Relationships: Effie Newsome & Jack Walker, George Crabtree & Llewellyn Watts, George Crabtree/Effie Newsome, Jack Walker/Llewellyn Watts, Minor or Background Relationship(s), William Murdoch/Julia Ogden, their friendship would be legendary, they bounce off each other well it's really fun
Comments: 9
Kudos: 28





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i'm planning on maybe 3 or 4 chapters... they'll be out in a few days i guess

It was a lovely Monday morning when a certain late Constable rushed out his sweetheart's door. 

George Crabtree knew well that Inspector Brackenreid would not appreciate him being late a second time this month. He ever so hastily said goodbye to Effie Newsome, closed the door and—collided right into Detective Watts, who inhaled through his teeth and staggered backwards into the wall. George yelped. 

The two stood still for a few seconds, staring pointlessly at each other. Each knew what the other was doing in the boarding house, and they awkwardly nodded in agreement to keep it unspoken. Watts straightened his hat, separated himself from the wall, and cleared his throat. 

"I believe that you are headed for the station house?" 

George's back straightened as he snapped back into rush mode. "Yes, yes, of course." he said. 

"Well," Watts brushed his coat with his hands, as if clearing away dirt, then looked back up to George. "We're here together now. Might as well, uh, go together?" 

A trip to work with Detective Watts! George was surprised it had not happened sooner, given that they, er, both frequented this building often. He shrugged and said, "I don't see why not, but we better move, or the inspector'll have our heads!" 

Watts spun in the direction of the exit. They were about to take off when a voice stopped them. 

"Sirs?" 

George and Watts turned back to see a boy who could not have been older than twelve standing in front of them. It looked as if he too had just gotten up, as he was barefooted and in his pyjamas. His hand was behind his back. 

He looked distressed as he urged, "I need your help." 

George bent down. "What with?" 

The boy glanced at his feet, then back to George. He took a deep breath and removed his hand from behind his back, revealing a bloodied knife. "This morning, I found my father stabbed in the bed." 

The two policemen exchanged another nod of understanding. Watts put his hand on the boy's shoulder and followed him. George ran out the exit and made a mad dash for Station House Four. 

It was approximately 10:30 when our Constable returned to the flat with his favourite detective. 

"Sir, the victim's name was Anthony Beck." George informed Detective Murdoch as they paced around the victim, who had indeed been evidently stabbed. "Forty-five years old, accountant, widower. His wife Ethel had died about a year ago, and he was left to raise their son, Joe, alone. Joe is the one who found the body." He glanced at the corpse in the bed which Miss Hart was now examining. 

"At least, he says. We found him holding the kitchen knife used to stab him. He says he pulled it out of his father when he found him. Higgins took it and I believe he's bringing it back to the station house." 

"And where is Joe now?" Murdoch asked. 

"In the kitchen with Detective Watts." 

"I see. Miss Hart?" Murdoch turned to the coroner crouched by the bed. 

"There are multiple stab wounds in the victim's chest." Miss Hart stood up and touched the wounds. "He would have died almost instantly, and very painfully. As for the time, I would say from midnight to three in the morning. I will know more once I examine the body more thoroughly." 

"Thank you, Miss Hart." said Murdoch, facing George again. "Come now, George. Let us see what the victim's son has to say." 

The flat was a miserable place. It looked as if no one had tidied up in weeks and the air reeked of alcohol. As Murdoch and George stepped into the kitchen, they had to tread carefully as pieces of broken glass lay across the floor. 

They found Joe Beck at the dining table, helping himself to a mess of black and brown bits which they _assumed_ was food. Watts stood bent over at his side, watching silently. He cringed as Murdoch called his name. 

"Watts!" 

Watts grunted. "Mm, Detective?" 

"What have you so far?" 

"Not much." Watts scratched the stubble on his cheek. "The boy was rather distraught; he couldn't think straight. So, I took the liberty of uh," With his hand, he gestured vaguely to the direction of the stove, "Fixing him some breakfast." 

Murdoch looked at the mess on the boy's plate, blinking multiple times, a bemused smile creeping up onto his lips. Beside him, George snorted. 

"I have never once said that I was ever any good at it." Watts said defensively. 

After Joe Beck finished his plate of... eggs, Murdoch supposed, the detective sent Watts and George off to interrogate others in the building. He took a seat at the only other chair and began. 

"Master Beck, I would assume that you are feeling slightly better after your breakfast, yes?" 

Joe slowly nodded. He folded his hands in his lap. "Detective Watts did an... interesting job. But... it's better than nothing." 

Murdoch raised his eyebrows. "What would you mean by that?" 

The boy avoided the detective's gaze. He sighed. "Sometimes, my father would refuse to let me eat in the morning to save money. It was nothing. You don't have to worry about it." Concern flickered in his eyes. He flinched, as if fearing that Murdoch would hurt him. 

Murdoch placed his hand on Joe's arm. "Ah. Well, your father is evidently gone now, so you are to be sent somewhere you will be fed and cared for properly, I hope." 

"Thank you." 

"Now, if you are up to it, would you please tell me about the events leading up to the discovery of your father?" 

Joe had calmed. He ran his hand through his hair and said, "I already told Detective Watts everything. Everything was normal last night. Then this morning, I got up by myself, which was strange, because my father usually woke me up earlier. I checked his bed, and there he was. The-" He swallowed. "Knife in his chest and all. I was so-so- I couldn't believe it. I took the knife out, and I-I broke down on the floor." He shifted uneasily in his seat. "Then I went out to tell someone and there was the detective and the constable." He giggled nervously. "What chance, right?" 

What chance indeed. 

Tears had appeared in the boy's eyes. He quickly wiped them and got up abruptly, heading for the bathroom. Murdoch rubbed the back of his neck, suspecting that there was a lot more to the story. He knew Joe Beck was in no state to talk about it now, so Murdoch instead wrote his ponderings down in his notepad. 

Detective Watts and Constable Crabtree were surprised to see Jack Walker and Effie Newsome speaking with each other in the hall. 

"I thought you had to leave for work." Effie teased, though sounding completely serious. 

George blushed. "Well, work brought me back." he replied. He tilted his head, frowning. "You two know each other?" 

"No, we only met today." Effie said, "We were wondering about the commotion down the hall." 

"I understand that Miss Newsome is your lover, right, Constable?" Walker said. 

_Lover_. Walker said it with such nonchalance. "Well," George stammered, his face red, "Lover, sweetheart, lady friend, whatever you would call it, but yes." He looked to Effie to check if had said the right thing. Seeing as she appeared satisfied, he could assume that he had. 

"What, are you afraid of the word, Constable?" said Walker, smiling to himself, "I, myself, quite like it. It's simple and to-the-point, yet still romantic. Don't you think so, Detective?" 

Being addressed seemed to scare the living daylights out of Watts, who erratically lurched and hit his head on the wall. He adjusted his hat and said, "It's... honest, yes. Erm, George and I are here to ask the other residents in this boarding house if they knew anything about the victim-" 

"Victim? So, it's a murder?" 

"Yes, Miss Newsome. Just a few doors down. A Mr. Anthony Beck." 

"Sorry, Detective." Walker shrugged. "I don't really know the others who live here." 

"Neither do I." said Effie. "But... I do believe that Mr. Beck had a friend in the building. Jamie Winters. You could ask him." She pointed towards a door diagonal from the Becks' place. 

"Oh, thanks a lot for your time, Effie, Mr. Walker." George rubbed his arm. "Uh, Detective?" 

Watts jerked his head in the direction of Mr. Winters's residence. "On it." 

They bid farewell to Effie and Mr. Walker, and upon yet another exchange of understanding nods, the two agreed that it was in their best interests not to mention that conversation again. 

Jamie Winters was promptly sent into a fit upon hearing the news about Mr. Beck. He took a seat on his couch and buried his face in his hands, shaking. George sat at the man's side and gave him a compassionate pat on the back. Watts simply stood around awkwardly in waiting. 

"I'm sorry, gentlemen," Mr. Winters said finally, bowing his head, "But Anto was a close friend of mine." 

"Yes," Watts said, "And, where were you last night between and three?" 

Winters froze, slowly lifting his head back up. "Are you suggesting that I killed him?" 

"Sir, I don't think it's the time-" George began. 

"You knew him, and you live right by him. Like Detective Murdoch says, 'We must look into every possible avenue of investigation.'" 

"I would never kill Anthony!" Winters cried out. "He was helpful, and friendly, and his son is such a- where is Joe, anyways? He must be a mess-" 

"He is currently with Detective Murdoch." Watts assured him. "I am sure he is fine. And, the answer to my question?" 

Mr. Winters rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I'll have you know; I was with my lady friend Cassie last night." 

George glanced at Watts. The detective glared back at the constable, then said. "We'll be able to confirm this with her...?" 

"She's coming later this afternoon." Winters mumbled. "You can ask her then." 

Watts nodded. "Okay... Well, you say you were close friends. Who do you know who might have wished harm on him?" 

Mr. Winters mulled over the question for a second. "Another neighbour of ours. Macklin. The two were never very friendly with each other." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had my friend beta read and she was like "I don’t really like that dude chatting with Effie at this moment, he seems slightly sketchy" and i actually had to remind her who jack walker is, and she's been into this show way longer than i have. oof.


	2. Chapter 2

Mr. Harry Macklin was not at home, so Watts and George rejoined Murdoch, and they left for Station House Four with Joe Beck. 

11 o 'clock that day was the time they and Dr. Ogden happened to arrive. Dr. Ogden was accompanied by a young woman and an elegantly dressed elderly man, both wearing solemn expressions. 

"Julia!" Murdoch exclaimed as they entered the bullpen and were joined by Inspector Brackenreid. 

"Catherine Grayson." The young woman shook the detective's hand. 

"Gaspard LaPointe." LaPointe tipped his hat. 

"Monsieur LaPointe and Miss Grayson are here to report a theft." Dr. Ogden said. 

"What was stolen?" Inspector Brackenreid asked. He leaned on the table Monsieur LaPointe had taken a seat at. "Money? Furniture? Jewelry?" 

LaPointe shook his head gravely. "Worse. Books." 

Brackenreid stared, no doubt wondering whether this was a joke. "Books, sir?" 

"Indeed, Inspector." LaPointe acted as if someone had died. "I own a shop on Pine. My niece Catherine and I were looking through the shelves this morning and we realized that three books were missing." 

"I noticed because I myself was looking for one of them." Miss Grayson said. "It was about medicine." 

"Are you sure you just haven't misplaced them or something?" said Brackenreid, standing up and turning around. 

LaPointe himself rose from his chair and slammed his fist on the table. "I apologize, Inspector, but you do not seem to comprehend how dedicated I am to my books. Every other day we count, one by one, and we make sure that every book is in order. I will not rest until-" 

"Okay, fine! Bloody hell!" Brackenreid gestured violently. "Murdoch!" 

Murdoch looked up, eyes widening. "But sir, the murder-" 

"Watts can take care of it." 

"He can?" Murdoch accidentally let slip. He put his hand over his mouth. 

"I can?" Watts himself blurted out. 

"Of course, he can." Brackenreid said, slapping Watts's back in reassurance. "Plus, it was he and Crabtree who first got the case, it's only fair that they finish it." He turned back to LaPointe. "You're in good hands, Mr. LaPointe. And if you finish the case early, Murdoch, you can help Watts out with the murder. But for now, he's in charge." 

"Oh, well," Murdoch said, amazed that he had been assigned the robbery. It appeared that Watts felt the same. "It'll be a change in pace." 

"Certainly. Well, bugalugs, what are you waiting for? Off you go." Brackenreid curtly turned away and made for his office. 

Detective Murdoch and Dr. Ogden entered the little bookstore with Monsieur LaPointe and Miss Grayson. Dr. Ogden was in the middle of explaining to Murdoch how she and Miss Grayson had been discussing one of the missing books when they had realized that it indeed was missing. Miss Grayson was studying to be a nurse, and she needed that specific text. The other two missing books were a text on children's psychology and a fictional narrative about a murderer, respectively. 

"I'd read the one about the murderer." Miss Grayson said. "It was rather interesting. The murderer used rather elaborate methods to make sure he was not found out. Of course, the clever detective always did find out in the end, but they could never catch the man. In retrospect, the detective reminds me of you, Detective Murdoch. Except, you always get your culprit." 

"Like how I will find whoever took your uncle's books." Murdoch agreed. "Now, Monsieur LaPointe, you said that you take inventory every other day?" 

"Indeed, Detective." 

"So, you can be sure that those three books were here two days ago?" 

"Yes, of course." 

"And you're sure no one has bought or borrowed them?" 

"Yes, we keep a record of all of it." 

"Were the stolen books special in any way? Perhaps rare? Valuable?" 

"In a monetary sense, they were quite ordinary." 

Murdoch frowned. "Was anyone interested any of the books but did not buy them?" 

Monsieur LaPointe scratched his head. "No, unless you count Catherine, but she assures me that she did not take them. My assistant Francesca would know more. I have her monitor our customers. She would be arriving for work in less than half an hour." 

Murdoch thanked Monsieur LaPointe, who made his way to his office in the back. Miss Grayson claimed that she had plans to meet someone soon and left. Murdoch and Dr. Ogden looked around the store together. Dr. Ogden found the book on philosophy she had been looking at before the discovery of the theft. 

"It's rather strange, wouldn't you say, William?" she mused. "Who would steal books? And if so, why specifically those three?" 

"I'm not quite sure yet, Julia. Perhaps the thief wanted the books but could not afford them." 

Dr. Ogden leaned on her arm. "Imagine wanting a book so badly that you steal it." She furrowed her eyebrows. "But Monsieur LaPointe lends books." 

Murdoch frowned again. "That certainly is odd." 

Miss Francesca Gordon arrived shortly. She, unlike LaPointe and Grayson, seemed to be unbothered by the news of the theft. She rolled her eyes. 

"Monsieur LaPointe is, for a lack of better terms, obsessed. He has me hover over customers, making sure they place books in the exact same spot they found them." 

"So, you keep a close watch at all times?" 

"It's what I get paid for." Miss Gordon shrugged. 

"Did you notice anyone looking at the books that were taken?" 

"Come to think of it, yes." 

"Did you get their names?" 

"No, but there was, uh, a child who wanted the murder mystery, but her parents said she was too young for it, that handsome young man inquiring about the psychology book, and... oh, Catherine's sweetheart ogling the medicine book." 

Murdoch tilted his head. " _Miss Grayson_ 's sweetheart?" 

Miss Gordon shrugged again. "Didn't catch his name. Didn't care. Apparently, they began courting a month or so ago. Catherine was showing him the book sometime last week, and he seemed fairly interested. Oh, and he was also looking at the murder story a few days ago." 

Murdoch and Dr. Ogden looked to each other. 

"Father never got on with many people." Joe Beck was telling Watts and George as they entered the boarding house once again. "Except Mr. Winters, but even they argued sometimes." 

"Mr. Winters seemed to think that your father was 'friendly' and 'helpful'." Watts told the boy. 

Joe actually cracked a smile. "Maybe to him. Oh look, it's Mr. Macklin." 

He pointed to a sallow-faced man of about fifty putting a key into the keyhole of the flat that indeed belonged to Mr. Harry Macklin. Mr. Macklin turned to see who had addressed him. His expression soured upon seeing the boy. As he turned, Watts noticed something glinting in Macklin's hand. 

"Is that a new kitchen knife, Mr. Macklin?" Watts gestured to him. 

"Who's asking?" Macklin snapped. He opened his door and stepped inside. 

"Detective Watts, Constable Crabtree," Watts nodded to George, "We would like to ask questions about the murder of Anthony Beck." 

Macklin's lips slowly curled into a grin. He let out a great "Ha!" and exploded into obnoxious laughter. He removed his hat and used it to cover his face. Joe Beck backed up behind George and muttered something about Macklin being a crackpot. 

George and Watts watched for a second or two. George was the one to speak up- 

"Uh, sir? Are you alright?" 

Macklin took another moment to regain his composure. He cried out loud, his smile still frozen on his face, "Beck is dead! He sure had it coming!" 

"You're... happy he's dead?" George said, eyes wide, putting an arm around Joe and pulling him back. 

"Well, I sure ain't sad about it!" Macklin slapped his doorway with his hat. He took his door and meant to close it. Watts stopped it with his own hat. 

"Mr. Beck was found in his bed with a knife in his chest, a knife not unlike the new one in your hand." 

Mr. Macklin slowly re-opened the door. "I simply lost my own, realized it last night, and went to purchase a new one in the morning. Why, you think I killed him?" 

Watts seized Macklin by the arm. "I think you should come with us, Mr. Macklin." 

"Yes, I hated the man, but I'm not stupid enough to kill him, at least not like that." 

Mr. Macklin crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair in the interrogation room. Watts stood opposite of him, taking in the unpleasantness, wishing that he had gotten the book case. 

"And where were you between midnight and three in the morning?" 

Macklin looked around, appearing irritated. "What do you think? I was sleeping! And, no, no one can confirm that, because I live alone!" he added before Watts could ask. 

"That is not surprising..." Watts remarked. 

Of course, no one could confirm that he was asleep. Watts feared that he was going to get a lot of that today. 

"How about the weapon, then? I doubt it's a coincidence that you lose your knife a day before another ends up in the man you evidently abhor." 

"Someone set me up, then! Took my knife, killed Beck, and knew all evidence would point to me." 

Watts considered the possibility. He rubbed his lip. "Alright then, say someone did frame you. The last time you saw your knife was..." 

"Two days ago." 

"Anyone visit since then?" 

Macklin snapped his fingers. "I had my cousin Fabian and his wife Ella over for dinner Saturday night. They shared my distaste for Beck, especially after he kept making advances on Ella." He slapped the table. "Bloody traitors, setting up their own family." 

Watts was about to depart for Fabian and Ella Barton's house when George approached him. 

"Sir, McNabb spoke with Jamie Winters's girl, Cassie, and she confirmed that they spent the whole night together." 

"Thank you, George." Watts meant to open the station house door but stopped. "And, where is Joe Beck?" 

"He's with Higgins, waiting to learn whether or not his father had made plans for him in case of something like this. And, uh, sir?" 

"Yes, George?" 

George took another step towards Watts. He had that look in his eyes that he got when he had one of his ideas. "Isn't the whole 'I spent the night with them' alibi a bit unreliable? I mean, unless you are awake the entire time, you couldn't be certain where the other goes when you're asleep." 

Watts smiled. "That would mean, George," he said lowly, leaning in closer to the constable, making sure no one else heard, "that you and I might as well be suspects." 

He patted George's shoulder amicably and exited. George stood around rather foolishly until Inspector Brackenreid yelled at him to get back to work. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> only three chapters then i guess  
> i also realized that this is my 20th fic on ao3!  
> ... and it's the only one that isn't related to musical theatre wow

A girl who looked of the same age as Joe Beck answered the Bartons' door. Her father Fabian appeared at her side to let Watts in. He led his daughter Norrie and the detective to the dining hall. 

"Sure, he was rather frustrating when we ran into him," Mr. Barton said, "But he was nothing more than that—frustrating. And we only crossed paths several times." 

"That makes sense." Watts said, "Seeing as you only met him while seeing your cousin. But just to be sure, your locations last night?" 

"At home, in bed, of course." Mrs. Barton answered. "Besides, why would we frame Harry? He's family." 

"I see. Well, thank you for your time anyways." 

Watts noticed Norrie Barton staring at him from her seat. Slowly, he approached her. He softened his tone, bent over, and asked, "Do you have anything you would like to say?" 

Norrie hesitated. "Is Joe okay?" 

Watts scratched his stubble. "He's... troubled, but he's safe at the station house." 

"Oh. Good. Because, whenever I saw him, he always looked worried." 

Detective Murdoch had shared how Joe had acted and what he had said during their interview. He had also shared a theory. Watts wondered if it was true. He said an extra thank you to Norrie Barton and hoped that Higgins was taking diligent care of Joe Beck. 

The Becks' place seemed even worse when it was empty. The smell of alcohol and the dismal state of uncleanliness left a sense of dread inside Watts. The memory of depression lingered in the air, and it did not feel new. 

Watts revisited the broken glass on the kitchen floor. He carefully picked a bit up and examined it. Wine bottle. Dropped, or perhaps thrown. That explained the smell. He looked through the pieces and found several stained with something dark. 

On a shelf in the bedroom sat a photograph of the Becks, father, mother, and son. Joe looked much less scared and much more confident. Watts dropped the photograph and treaded forwards. A conversation was in order. 

"Yes, he was interested in the book." Miss Grayson told Murdoch. "Are you suggesting that Jamie stole Oncle Gaspard's books?" 

Murdoch narrowed his eyes. "Jamie... Jamie Winters?" 

Miss Grayson concurred. "Yes... How did you know?" 

"His neighbour Anthony Beck was recently murdered—I was working on it before I was assigned this case." 

"Yes, I know, I gave Jamie his alibi for last night." Miss Grayson said, her shoulders slumping slightly. "He's devastated. And what will happen to the man's son, Joe? Jamie talks on about how concerned he was for the poor boy. Something about him appearing helpless and uncertain..." 

"William," Dr. Ogden said, walking up to Murdoch's side, "Do you suppose that the two cases are-" 

"-connected?" Murdoch finished for her, eyeing a blackboard on the wall. "It might be so, Julia. Miss Grayson?" 

"Yes?" 

Murdoch advanced towards the blackboard and put his hand on it. "Do you think your uncle would mind if I borrowed this?" 

Miss Hart was at Station House Four, waiting for Watts. She actually grabbed his arm. 

"Detective? I found something you would want to know." 

"Hm?" 

"Stabbing was not the cause of death." 

_This_ got Watts's attention. "Then, what was?" 

"Poisoning. I found phenol in the victim's blood and an injection mark on his left arm." 

Watts blinked. "And the stabbing?" 

"It appears that it was done post-mortem." 

"So, someone injected Mr. Beck with the poison, killing him, then stabbed him to frame Mr. Macklin." 

"It would seem so." 

"That would check out with Macklin's story..." He scratched his chin. 

"Thank you very much, Miss Hart. That was very enlightening." 

Watts ordered for Mr. Macklin to be released, then requested for Crabtree, Higgins, and Joe Beck. A story was formulating in his head. He needed clarification. 

The detective told George to hurry up in finding Anthony Beck's lawyer and asking about Joe while he led the boy into the interview room. 

Higgins, thankfully, had indeed been careful with the kid. He had fed him proper food, gotten him good clothes and spent the rest of the day distracting him from the troubles around them. Joe Beck looked happier than Watts had ever seen him. He hated that he had to change that. 

Watts pulled a chair to the boy's side. He sat and put his hands on the table. 

"Shouldn't you be sitting over there?" Joe asked, eyeing the space diagonal from him where the detective should have been. 

"Mm, usually." Watts admitted. "But I feel that given the situation, beside you is where I belong at the moment." 

"I'm not- I'm not a baby." Joe protested, turning his back to the detective. "My father's death—I can handle it." 

Watts was careful to speak slowly. "Joe, what I'm about to do is something even adults are afraid to talk to talk about." 

Joe looked over his shoulder to meet his interviewer's sober gaze. "Oh-okay." He rotated his chair to directly face him. 

"This," Watts hesitated. "This is important. I need you to tell me the truth-" 

"Just ask me already!" Joe shouted. He hung his head, shaking slightly. 

"Joe," With a grimace, Watts forced it out, "did your father beat you?" 

The boy looked into Watts's eyes, tears beginning to fill his own. "Y-yes." 

"Did... did he throw his wine bottles at you?" 

"Yes." 

"Did he deliberately forbid you from eating to keep all the food and money to himself?" 

"It wasn't his fault!" 

Joe buried his face in his arms. Watts reached out to comfort him but refrained. 

"What do you mean by that?" 

"When- when Mom died of pneumonia last year, Father started drinking more. He loved her more than anything, and- and now that she was gone, he said that things were going to change. He told me that it was only he and I now, and that we had to make sacrifices to keep things as normal as possible..." 

"Sacrifices?" 

"Y- yeah..." Joe raised his head from his arms but continued to stare at the table. He exhaled. "With Mom gone and Father going to work less, we got less money, and less food, and-" 

"-More alcohol?" 

The boy continued to avoid Watts's eyes. "He was always angry and had no one else to comfort him. I told you Father never had many friends. Then he and Mr. Winters began arguing more, so even he couldn't help-" 

"Hold on." Watts interrupted. "When was the last time your father and Mr. Winters argued?" 

"I don't know..." Joe stared straight ahead. "Two or three days ago, I think." 

Watts rose from his chair and opened the interview room door. Higgins stood outside, watching. "Henry! Take young Joe here and get him another thing to eat." 

"Me, sir?" Higgins asked, "But I'd promised the Inspector that after-" 

"You yourself are going to be a father, yes?" 

This sudden remark caused Henry to light up. "Yes, sir." He nodded enthusiastically. 

"Judging by how things went with the boy this morning, I think you're quite suited for the job. You seem to have a natural talent with children that many people such as myself only wish they could have. Therefore, I am trusting you with him once again." 

"You think so?" Henry beamed. 

"It's your gift." Watts affirmed. "And perhaps caring for him could be practice for your own child. When it grows up, of course." 

Henry peered into the interview room, then jogged up to Joe, who had sat back upright and looked more interested in the floor than a twelve-year-old should have been. Watts thanked them both and called George Crabtree's 's name as he rushed into the bullpen. 

George popped up holding several files. 

"Sir, you'll never guess who receives custody of Joe Beck after both Ethel and Anthony have died." 

Watts pointed at nothing in particular. "I believe I can, but I'll humour you. Who, George?" 

"The boy's godfather. Jamie Winters." 

"Ah." Watts gave a jolt of his head. "I had assumed." 

"And another thing. The fellas didn't mention it earlier, but you know Cassie?" 

"Yes, Mr. Winters's girl?" 

"She's the same person as Catherine Grayson, the woman who came with her uncle to report the book theft." 

"The case Detective Murdoch got?" 

"Yes, sir, the very same. And I happen to recall her saying something worth mentioning. She's studying-" 

"-to be a nurse." Watts finished, raising his hand to his face. "George, with me!" 

The two darted out of the station house. 

Murdoch stood in front of the blackboard, examining his chart with scrutiny. Dr. Ogden remained beside him, tracing the air, following along with the arrows. Miss Grayson watched in awe, and Miss Gordon, in skepticism. 

The detective had drawn out the relations between Miss Grayson, Monsieur LaPointe, Mr. Winters and the Becks. He had Mr. Winters's name circled, and drawn lines connecting to the names of two of the three books. The line joining Mr. Winters and the fictional narrative was labelled _to study crimes_ . The one connecting to the psychology text was simply labelled _Joe_. 

With chalk in his hand, Murdoch hovered over the name of the third book, the medicine text. 

"There is nothing in the case relating to medicine. Why would the culprit steal that book?" 

The bell over the entrance door dinged. 

"Because Anthony Beck was not killed by stabbing. He was poisoned." 

Watts hopped down into the nook where Murdoch's blackboard was stationed, George following. 

"He was?" Dr. Ogden said. 

"Phenol was injected in his blood." Watts updated them. "Then stabbed to frame Mr. Macklin." 

Everyone turned to Miss Grayson, who crossed her arms. "Oh, you suppose that I did it? I barely even knew Anthony Beck!" 

Miss Gordon snickered. "So, it _was_ you, Cass?" 

"Francesca!" She threw her hands up. 

"Actually." Watts said, "I do not believe that Miss Grayson was the murderer. Why kill with something that would directly implicate you? Miss Grayson, what exactly did you do with Mr. Winters last night?" 

"Detective, that is hardly your business!" 

Unaware that the rest of the shop was staring at him, Watts continued, "Did you bring anything with you that evening Miss Grayson?" 

Dr. Ogden caught on with Watts's theory. "Yes, Miss Grayson, you did mention Jamie being interested in your studies. Perhaps you could have showed him something..." 

"Oh." The young woman's face was flushed. She placed her hand on her mouth. "Several instruments, including..." 

"A needle." Murdoch concluded. "Mr. Winters invited you over and stole your needle and murdered Mr. Beck when you were sleeping, knowing that you would know nothing of it and give him his alibi." He looked over to Watts. "Detective?" 

"After you." Watts said. 

"I am coming too!" Miss Grayson followed them out the door. 

Before Murdoch, Watts or George could do anything, Miss Grayson marched across the flat to Mr. Winters and slapped him. 

"Cassie!" Mr. Winters squeaked. 

"That's for using me!" She slapped him again. "That's for trying to frame me!" She decked him. "And that is for stealing from my uncle!" 

"Cassie, please!" Mr. Winters picked himself up from the floor. "I- I don't know what you're talking about!" 

"Search the flat," Watts told George. He obliged. 

"Hey! Hey, what for?" 

Mr. Winters rushed to where George was, but his effort was futile. George pulled three books out from a dresser. Mr. Winters stood where he was, hanging his head in defeat. He let the Constable cuff him without a fight. 

"You framed Miss Grayson for framing Mr. Macklin." Watts said. 

"And killed your best friend." said Murdoch. 

"It was for Joe." Mr. Winters murmured. "When Ethel died, Anthony changed. He didn't let me notice it at first, but I could see it through Joe. Joe was scared, he was helpless, he was weak... three days ago, I-I finally confronted Anthony. He told me that I had no proof to my claims and even if I did, what could I do?" 

"So, you got the text on psychology for proof," Watts deduced, "And the murder narrative and the medicine text for something to do about it. A well-researched murder." 

"Yes, but regardless of your reason," Murdoch told him, "It's still murder. You will hang, Mr. Winters." 

"Then hang me." Mr. Winters said, "Just promise me something." 

"Which is?" 

"That Joe will go somewhere he'll be cared for and loved." Mr. Winters smiled grimly as George and another constable took him away. 

Miss Grayson took a seat on the couch. She frowned as she kept her eyes on the door, no doubt imagining the man she had cared for being led to the cells. 

"Well, Watts," said Murdoch, "Things seem to have gone nicely with you in charge of the case." 

"It was hardly me, Detective." Watts said humbly, "The lynchpin in the case was simply available to us right from the beginning." He scratched his chin. "It's... rather unfortunate. The child, the innocent of the whole affair, is the one who is affected the most. Where will he go now that his godfather is uh, unavailable?" 

"I would like to take him." 

Watts and Murdoch turned to Miss Grayson. The young woman had stood up straight. 

"Jamie and Mr. Anthony made the most terrible decisions." Miss Grayson said. "None of us want the boy to suffer. I would like to take him, if possible." 

"We're not in charge of where he goes," Watts said. "So, our word wouldn't mean anything, but... are you sure you will be able to give him proper care?" 

"Oncle Gaspard could use another hand in the shop." said Miss Grayson. "He'll keep Francesca busy while I'm studying. And I- I've always wanted a child." 

"Then we wish you the best of luck." Murdoch told her. "And uh-" He strode towards the dresser and picked up the three books. "Give these to your uncle." 

Later that week, George Crabtree discreetly entered the boarding house- and again happened to walk directly into Detective Watts. 

"We both can't get enough of it, eh, sir?" George said with an anxious smile. 

Watts delayed as he considered it, then he pointed to George. "Love makes fools out of us men. Not only in the sense of intimacy, but the love of a friend, or family. So, let us tread carefully, George! Look what love made of Anthony Beck and Jamie Winters." 

And with that, he made a fist and hit George's arm in a friendly manner, then walked to Jack Walker's apartment, where the door opened, and he entered without a word. 

George smirked, and he too made his way to his destination. 


End file.
